


Fuel for Dreams

by BlackVelvet42



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Ambition, Ballet, Childhood, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-10-02 02:38:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17256056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackVelvet42/pseuds/BlackVelvet42
Summary: “Kathryn Janeway!” The music stopped and in the sudden silence, swift steps approached.





	Fuel for Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> For StasiClaire. For dreams and the will to make them come true.
> 
> Merci beaucoup pour la bêta, Killermanatee;)

* * *

 

“…tendu front, and close, again, and close. Demi-plié, and next direction. Tendu side, and close…”

The steady voice and string of instructions blended with the piano melody, forming a familiar background to the routine exercise.

Like she had been told numerous times, Kathryn tried not to grip the barre for balance nor stare at the girl in front of her. Shifting her eyes back to the mirror and her focus to her own moves, dozens of instructions flashed through her mind. 

Shoulders down, chin up. Belly tight, back straight. Fingers extended, toes pointed. Legs turned out, and don’t forget to breathe.

After three years of formal training, these basics still required her concentration, but like so often before, her thoughts soon drifted to advice she found much more appealing.

‘A dancer should always move with the lightness of air,’ her teacher used to say in a voice softer than usual, ‘Glide over the stage with the flow of water, create a world of poetry and magic, and hide all hardship behind precision and grace.’

The picture those words and her imagination painted was nothing less than a fairy tale.

Sometimes, if they all asked really nicely, their teacher would dance for them. And for a fleeting moment, the passage of a classical piece brought to life the beauty they all strived to achieve.

How anyone could move with such elegance was beyond Kathryn’s grasp, but the example their teacher set was enchanting, bringing a dreamy sigh to all their lips.

Lifting her hand up in the air, Kathryn imagined long grass swaying in the breeze and tried to capture that softness into the motion. In contrast, her leg was supposed to be straight as a… what was it? As an arrow, yes.

With a startle, she realized she was one beat behind everyone else and strained to catch up, a tightness growing in her chest. She knew exactly where her lapse would lead to.

_ “Kathryn Janeway!” _

The music stopped and in the sudden silence, swift steps approached. 

Everyone turned to her.

Some girls shared a quick whisper, grinning and preparing to enjoy the upcoming show. Others looked irritated by the class being disrupted once again, by the girl whose last name was well-known to everyone. 

The woman she had equally come to adore and fear, towered over her with dark eyes boring into her, and she only wished for the floor to open and devour her then and there.

“What is it you think you were doing, young lady?”

Her teacher’s standards had always been difficult to fulfill. Much like her father, she expected discipline and investment, if not perfection, and while she rarely gave praise, her disapproval was never unclear.

Today, however, she looked particularly on edge.

“I’m sorry, Madame, I must have…”

As if she had never muttered a word, the woman turned to the other students.

“Could someone kindly demonstrate to Miss Janeway the difference between tendu devant and tendu derriére? She appears to lack some basic knowledge of ballet.”

Several eager hands rose and before beginning the requested combination, the girl chosen threw her a spiteful glare.

‘You may be the Admiral’s daughter,’ those eyes seemed to whisper, ‘but without your father, you are nothing.’

While her face was burning bright red, the unfairness and unnecessary harshness also provoked a silent protest she was wise enough to keep to herself.

She did not deserve this. 

Even though her attention sometimes wandered, she was still better than most in this group and certainly better than the smug girl basking in everyone’s attention.

When her teacher turned back, her easily spiking temper had cooled again and she regarded Kathryn’s defiant stare with an expressionless face. Leaning closer, she spoke in a voice so low that no one else could hear.

“I know you can do better, Kathryn. You are smart, and you have talent. If only you tried harder and concentrated, you could accomplish anything.” 

And then she was gone. Back in front of the class, proceeding to the next exercise, a new melody floating through the room accompanied by her sharp commands.

The unexpected compliment remained as an echo in her ears. 

With the certainty of a nine-year-old, Kathryn knew the words to be true. Nothing was beyond her reach if she set her mind to it. Maybe she really only had been lazy, maybe all she needed was to challenge herself and push her limits further. That was exactly what her father used to say to her, too.

The mystery of why keeping focus seemed so much easier for others remained, but she brushed the question aside, dismissing it in favor of the most probable cause: she just wasn’t giving it her best.

Swallowing back the humiliation, she continued with the workout, silently reminding herself of the reward waiting for her, the reason that pulled her back to the dance studio week after week.

The dream she had harbored ever since she could remember.

Sooner or later, she would earn her first pointe shoes. If nothing or no one else, the pale satin would acknowledge her skill and strength gained through years of practice, and the ribbons wrapped around her ankles would symbolize her commitment to continue her path.

Because somewhere ever farther in the future lay a goal she hadn’t revealed to anyone. A dream still too fragile to speak about and better kept sheltered from criticism and doubt.

One day, all eyes would be set upon her.

One day, she would be waiting in the shadows, trembling with excitement and energy, and at the first vibrant tones marking her moment, she would flow across the stage under the spotlights, ethereal and flawless.

With the full force of the orchestra and a hundred dancers supporting her lead, she would bring to life tales of sacrifice and loss, of fate and hope and undying love. She would dance through the pain like there was no tomorrow, giving everything for the silent audience in the dark until the last crescendo would fade away and the curtains would fall.

She would listen to the storm of applause rise and then, only then, gazing at the ocean of admiration and respect before her, would she stop and smile. Heart thundering and blood rushing in her ears, she would breathe in deep and take a bow, allowing the recognition and rewards for all her efforts fully sink in.

One day.

“First position. Rond de Jambe a Terre. In one, and two…”

 

* * *

 


End file.
